


As Plain As a Goat on a Dinner Table

by misura



Category: Alien Nation
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You look tired, George," Moodri said solicitously. "You'll feel better after some dinner."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"That would be the dinner that is currently being eaten by your goat?" George asked.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Plain As a Goat on a Dinner Table

The one good thing about goats, George supposed, was that you could theoretically eat them at some point.

He didn't quite think that outweighed all the many bad things about goats, though, such as the fact that they were extremely prone to chewing and otherwise damaging the furniture. Their dinner table, for example, would quite probably need to be replaced on very short notice.

"But how did - "

"I think he jumped," Moodri said, complacently watching the whole scene from the couch. "Goats do that, you know. Or perhaps you didn't."

"Yes, _thank you_ , I know about goats." Did he ever. "I believe Susan told you your ... companions were not to be allowed in the house."

"Did she tell them? In a language they understood?" Moodri spread his hands in a gesture of innocent helplessness. "They're not pets, George. I'm not their owner."

George sighed. His ankles were hurting.

"And it was raining," Moodri said.

"I see." George considered losing his temper. Past experience seemed to indicate this would not significantly improve the situation, but he was tempted all the same.

"You look tired, George," Moodri said solicitously. "You'll feel better after some dinner."

"That would be the dinner that is currently being eaten by your goat?" George asked.

"Oh," Moodri said. "Well, I suppose he was hungry."

 

("I'll just put a tablecloth on it," Susan said, doing so. "There. See? It's fine.")

("No, it's _not_ fine," George said, but he could tell by her expression she felt he was being difficult. "Well, still, I suppose there was no lasting harm done.")

 

As a rule, George was a model of equanimity. Matt might have a few rough spots, act like a bit of a 'cowboy cop' sometimes (a concept Matt had explained to him two weeks ago, before lending him a 'really great movie' which George had dutifully watched with a mixture of horror and fascination at these ... male humans who appeared to have no regard for the Constitution or proper police procedure whatsoever) but not George.

George was a professional. Calm, collected and something else that started with a C that was good. He was the very model of -

"Okay, who pissed in your cornflakes this morning?" Matt asked.

"I believe it was a goat," George said. He had, in fact, breakfasted on a rather tasty bowl of chicken's entrails, but he'd been reading up on human expressions, and he was fairly confident he'd correctly interpreted Matt's question as one of those.

Besides, humans tended to get strangely squeamish about uncooked food.

"Fine, don't tell me," Matt said, scowling.

"No, there really - " George started.

Matt held up one hand. "Save it. We've got a case to work."

 

When he came home that evening, there was a conspicuous lack of goats on the dinner table, which George decided to take as a hopeful sign. He actually began to feel vaguely cheerful again - they seemed to be making good progress on the case; Matt would have forgotten all about his sulk by tomorrow, and he'd soon be enjoying a no doubt delicious dinner with his family.

"George," Moodri said, wearing his serious expression that usually indicated he was about to disperse some nugget of either insanity or mythological nonsense.

"Moodri." George nodded pleasantly. "Not raining today, I hope?"

"You're the one who's just come in from outside," Moodri said. "You tell me."

George sighed.

Moodri frowned at him. "You know, George, some things are really easy to see. And some are really easy to see, too, but somehow, we're completely blind to them. Funny, isn't it?"

"Things," George said. He didn't want to ask. He wasn't going to ask.

"Just think about it," Moodri said.

 

("And the most vexing thing is: I am," George said. "What _can_ he be meaning? What is he trying to get me to do?")

("You worry too much," Susan said, snuggling closer. "Did you patch things up with Matt?")

("Nothing to patch up. We're all hunky-donky again. As if nothing happened.")

("I'm glad.")

 

Their case had hit a bit of a snag and so, the next day, they found themselves knocking on doors and asking questions and crossing names off a list. Not boring, and undoubtedly useful, but still.

George didn't think he could be blamed for not really paying as close attention to where Matt was in relation to himself as he might have. They weren't in any danger; there was no need for him to provide cover or some such thing.

And then Matt did this ... _thing_ , and it suddenly became rather pressingly important that Matt would be located somewhere well ahead of him. Or sideways, possibly - that would work, too, given sufficient distance. Having Matt behind him though - that was bad. That was very bad.

"Matt," George said. His face felt warm. "Matthew."

"Hm?" Matt said, and he'd probably made that particular sound a hundred times already during their partnership, but usually, he'd been on the other side of a desk.

"Please stop doing that," George said, adding: "We're in public," by way of hopefully holding off another sulk. He _liked_ Matt - liked him quite a lot in fact, but there was a time and a place for such things, and this really wasn't appropriate at all. Assuming Matt even knew what he was doing, which he might very well not.

"Hm?" Matt said, again. The male human voice had a distinctly different range from the Tenctonese female one - the difference was quite remarkable, in fact, but a hum was still a hum. "What are you talking about?"

"You're humming," George said, managing not to clench his teeth.

"Oh. Sorry. Got one of those songs that get stuck in your head stuck in my head. Guess you're getting it too, now, huh?"

George wasn't sure whether he wanted to scream or weep. Both, possibly.

"Wait," Matt said. "When you say I'm humming, do you mean that as in, well, _humming_?" Give the man a prize. "I mean - you know what I mean."

"Yes," George said. He could practically feel Matt coming up behind him now. "And yes."

"Oh," Matt said. George supposed it was better than 'hm'. "Sorry, man. I didn't - sorry."

"What, exactly, are you apologizing for?" Unwise, probably, to push the subject, but Matt had given him a pretty good opening. "For the act itself, or for performing it in an utterly unsuitable location?"

"Hey," Matt said, sounding slightly offended. "It was an honest mistake, okay? No need to get your panties all in a twist."

"Maybe I like my panties in a twist." George wasn't sure what panties had to do with anything, really; he'd been clearly told only females wore them. Susan had several pairs.

"George, you're - what are you saying? You _want_ me to hum at you?"

Matt's expression was genuinely curious. "You are my very dear friend," George said. "We have a saying. It roughly translates as: 'since I have two hearts, why only give away one?'. It might lose a bit in translation."

"No," Matt said. "I get it."

"Do you?"

"Yeah," Matt said. "Any time you annoy me, all I need to do is hum at you, and you'll be like putty in my hands. Cool."

"That's not - " George began, when Matt put a hand on his shoulder.

"I get it, George. Special occasions only."

" _Private_ occasions only," George said. He still wasn't entirely sure what they were agreeing on here, if Matt was taking this seriously or if he was just playing along, assuming George was, too.

"You take all the fun out of it."

"Just laying down some ground rules," George said.

"Yeah, yeah. Love you too."

 

("Sounds like you finally saw your goat," Susan said, much later that evening.)

("Really, he's not quite that bad," George said. "Or smelly.")

 

"All's well that ends well," Moodri said, beaming around as if he'd done anything more than utter cryptic advise that could have been taken any which way.

"Except that there's a goat on the breakfast table?" Matt asked, staring.

"Details." Moodri waved dismissively.


End file.
